The Viking Cheese Smuggler

I have a new skill to add to my resume.  Viking cheese smuggler. 

My job this past year has been undergoing a lot of change.  Somehow, I now find myself flying off to Stockholm for customer meetings a couple of times a year.  It's a lovely city.  The people are beautiful, friendly, educated and very hospitable.  My most recent trip, in February, was a bit chilly (arctic just sounds so dramatic) but as my colleague Nigel says, there's no such thing as too cold, just inadequate wardrobe choices.  Considering I strolled through Stockholm in so many layers of clothing I could barely bend my elbows and knees, I managed to stave off hypothermia and actually enjoyed a walk one snowy afternoon.

The cold isn't the point though, is it?  It's the cheese.  Maybe cold cows make better cheese.  Who knows?  The cheese here is great!  I've now made a habit of raiding a super market before I fly home because Dave and I are both completely addicting to something called "Viking" cheese.  It's a sharp firm cow cheese with tiny little granules of salt in it.  It is so delicious!  We've now branched out and I regularly buy a few pounds of different cheeses to fit into the nooks and crannies of my suitcase.

This can be a problem when airlines weigh your luggage... My last trip home, my bag was 5 lbs over weight.  That was going to cost about $40 in extra baggage fees.  I'm talking about $20 worth of cheese - this is not super gourmet stuff.  It's probably the Swedish equivalent of Velveeta, but it's so darn good I wasn't leaving it behind either.  After some creative rearranging, four block of cheese was fit into my carry on bag and my suitcase made weight regulations.

Happily, I trotted down the jetway and boarded my flight.  19 hours later, I arrived in good 'ole San Francisco - not exactly fresh as a daisy, but really happy to be home.  Then the excitement started.  Seems the drug sniffing dogs are really fond of cheese.  I was "marked" by one of them.  A cute little beagle cornered me and the officer who handled him took me to "secondary".   In retrospect, it's not such a great idea to have four, dense, gel-like rectangular objects in ones luggage.  They looked at me like I was toting blocks of C-4.  Oopsie! 

After a few minutes, all was determined to be non-explosive, but there was a problem with me carrying too much cheese.  One of the blocks was confiscated.  I've since looked and looked all over the place to try and find the limit on how much cheese one can carry on one's person when entering the country and have yet to find it.  I think the real answer lays in the tummy growling I heard coming from that cute little beagle.